


I'm tangled [up in you]

by relenafanel



Series: [S]WAY With Me [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elevators, First Dates, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Game of Thrones References, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, New York City, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:52:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relenafanel/pseuds/relenafanel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' plans are shit. They have multiple first dates that don't go the way there were supposed to, but somehow it still counts as dating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm tangled [up in you]

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maichan808 (maichan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maichan/gifts).



> A long, long, long time ago I promised this to maichan808 for an auction. I mean a _LONG TIME AGO_.
> 
> I'm sorry I suck.

Stiles was really exhausted after his weekend.  After learning his father was alive and fine, he should have been relaxed; not even relationship stress should have been able to take away what sleeping in and hanging out with his best friend and his best gaming partner could do for his psyche.  But he wasn’t.  It was like, some part of his brain remembered what it felt like not to work all the time and be lazy instead, and he came away from his weekend with an acute exhaustion he could feel on a cellular level.  His hair follicles ached and his eyes were heavy and he felt like he hadn’t slept in days.

 

Walking home after work was brutal and draggy, and Stiles had to fight the urge to get a taxi despite the fact it was a warm evening, the kind that he really loved in the city.  The air was fragrant with layers of smells, some terrible, some interesting, and some amazing.  The sounds and sights of the city were comforting, like the old worn sweater he wrapped himself in when he was sick.  Sometimes, when he paid particular attention to his surroundings, when he really listened and looked at the things around him, he felt like a newcomer all over again, experiencing New York City for the first time.

 

Today, he was too tired to do more than trudge home on autopilot, lost in his thoughts, with his headphones tight over his ears.

 

Possibly, he could attribute his exhaustion to the fact that his relationship with Derek was freaking him out a little.  They were going so slow, and that was fine because there wasn’t a step-by-step process to how relationships should go.  There wasn’t any certainty, or a book that gave a timeline with instructions, and Derek was not the same person as any of the other people Stiles had dated in the past, so comparing their progress against past experiences was stupid and pointless.

 

Stiles knew that.

 

He wasn’t looking for parallels.  He wouldn’t.

 

But he couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that they hadn’t even kissed yet, not with any kind of zeal that would help indicate how they meshed sexually.  Part of him knew that one of the reasons they hadn't passionately kissed yet was because the situation never really made sense. It was fine. It really was. It gave Stiles something to look forward to.

 

And something to irrationally freak out over. What if Derek was bad at it? What if Derek thought they were being passionate now? What if all their zing and fire and sexual tension could never really be resolved in the way that it deserved to be because they didn't actually make sparks together?

 

Stiles knew that those worries were typical for this kind of relationship, but it didn't keep him from fretting over it as he started his work week, aware that their first date shone like a very ironical beacon on top of the hill that was Friday.

 

(Ironic, because their last date had been disrupted by a place actually called Beacon Hills)

 

(Maybe Stiles should go into some kind of word-smith vocation, like PR)

 

(hahaha)

 

But seriously, Derek was stupidly hot. What were the chances he was terrible at sex? Stiles thought they might be marginally high. On the other hand damn Godly Jogger was athletic so Stiles might not even notice if he was bad in bed unless he was, like, so terrible that he was incompetent.  Stiles had seen Derek stretch out his muscles, sex couldn’t be all bad if at least one of them could spread their legs wide and stand with their hands flat against the ground.

 

Right?

 

Right.

 

The rational side of his brain decided _'so what?'_ and reminded him that with time and effort he could change any bad sex habits Derek might have... and Derek was definitely worth the effort. The more irrational side of his brain sulked at the idea of substandard blow jobs until they got there because honestly sucking at sex? That blew.

 

And who knew, maybe Derek would think Stiles was the one bad at sex.  Maybe Stiles was bad at sex.  Oh God, what if he was _bad at sex_?

 

The point was that Stiles really, really wanted Friday to come so that _he_ could come.  Then he wouldn’t be as anxious about it.

 

But, like, at the same time he didn’t feel any major rush to fall onto Derek’s cock, and it wasn’t because of worry.  He and Derek had a good thing – a real solid foundation based in a friendship (kind of) and a year of mutual pining.  Stiles wasn’t thinking of Derek as someone he’d have to test drive before deciding if he wanted (the potential) to spend the rest of his life with the other person.  He kind of already knew he’d be trying for keeps.

 

That didn’t mean that Stiles wasn’t aware that things could happen and that _happily ever after_ s took a lot of work after the magical storybook closed.  He knew that, ok?  He thought that maybe Derek was someone he’d keep around for all the bad and the boring and the frustrating parts, too.

 

And so, he’d come full circle in his worrying and fretting that maybe they couldn’t work together, because Stiles wanted to try to make it work, and so he’d do everything he could to make sure the idea of _Stiles and Derek_ didn’t lapse.  Their potential right now was entirely untested and that was a beautiful, shining thing.  It was the light at the end of the beacon.

 

Maybe, just maybe, the thing Stiles was worried the most about wasn’t the sex.  Maybe he was worried that Derek didn’t feel the same way about him that Stiles felt about Derek.  What if Derek wasn’t as in for the long-term?  What if Derek couldn’t feel those tentative connections, the delicate strings of emotions that were starting to bind them together – what if they only went one way?

 

That was stupid, right? 

 

It was really stupid considering Derek had been chasing after Stiles as Stiles was chasing after him, in a möbius strip of pining and stupidity.

 

“Oh hey!” Stiles said, grinning widely as the elevator door opened, revealing Derek in one of his tight shirts.  That hadn’t gotten old yet, maybe because Stiles hadn’t really had a chance to explore the skin beneath, but he had a feeling that seeing hints of Derek’s well-toned physique wasn’t the kind of thing that got old with time.  Derek might, but probably not for another 5 years at least, and Stiles was only shallow about looks until the point he actually appreciated the other person for who they were, and he’d passed that point with Derek like eight months before.  “I was just thinking that I’m probably still going to think that you’re hot when you’re old and flabby.  Of course, you’re probably going to age gracefully like Sean Connery whereas I have the type of jawline that means I’m going to look like a gremlin by the age of forty.”

 

“Thanks?” Derek questioned slowly, eyebrows knitted together as he observed Stiles, probably wondering at the things that came out of his mouth sometimes.  He didn’t move to get out of the elevator, just shifting backwards to allow Stiles on, and Stiles smiled at him in return.

 

“Aren’t you heading somewhere?” Stiles asked, stepping into the elevator with him.  Stiles had… fond memories of Derek in the elevator. 

 

“It’s not that important,” Derek answered with a small smirk and a shake of his head.  “I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

 

“Be still my heart,” Stiles gently teased with a hand over his chest, and in the most secret corners of his brain he knew he wasn’t actually joking.  “It’s been less than 24 hours.”

 

“Today’s Tuesday.”

 

“What? Really?” Stiles said in surprise as he tried to take off his headphones, wanting to be able to hear Derek without the sound cancelling padding inhibiting his movements.  Of course, he got tangled in his tie again.  Curses.

 

Derek let out a bark of laughter, reaching over to untangle Stiles’ headphone cord from the silk and allow the material to drop down so the loosened knot rested against his clavicle, off-centered due to the way Stiles’ collar stuck up on one side.  Derek used the silk to draw Stiles in, leaning close as his hand slid along the bare skin at Stiles’ neck, a thin strip between the tie and the skewed collar of his shirt.  The touch was a tease, ticking along sensitive skin as Stiles looked into Derek’s eyes.  Derek’s eyelashes cast a shadow over the depths of colour, irises appearing a solid hazel hue in the dim lighting, but Stiles was more fascinated by the way his pupils expanded as Derek’s gaze landed on Stiles’ mouth.

 

Derek’s tongue slid out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip, practically telegraphing his thoughts and intentions.

 

Aww yeah, this was happening.

 

“You’re stuck in your tie again,” Derek murmured, eyes flicking up to meet Stiles’, and he seemed so amused, so fond, as his hands trailed across Stiles’ shoulders and his strong fingers curled in the silk of the tie.  This one wasn’t an expensive one, it was a secret novelty tie with subtle TARDIS print, but Derek smoothed it back down over his ears and loosened the knot, focusing so intently on unwrapping the material from thin cords of Stiles’ headphones that his tongue peeked out from the corner of his mouth.

 

Stiles realized that he’d have the chance to have that in his mouth soon, to have Derek’s intent focus on him as he trailed his tongue over Stiles’ skin.  It looked like Derek might be thinking the same thing he was, that this was a thing that was happening now.

 

Stiles beat him to it, leaning in and sliding his bottom lip across the swath of damp skin Derek’s tongue had left in its wake.  Derek’s lips felt slightly rough against his, the spark of the friction running along his jaw and tingling at the base of Stiles’ skull as he parted his mouth just enough so that his top lip crested along Derek’s.  It was a playful gesture with just a hint of contact that made him want to move closer to Derek.

 

Derek seemed to agree because his thumb had finished stroking along the line of Stiles’ collar, the slightly raised callus on his skin scraping lightly at the skin of Stiles’ neck, and fingers spread out to cradle along the back of Stiles skull as he leaned towards him.  It felt like Derek was pulling him forward, but Stiles knew that it was an imagined hook and line that had the two of them pressing closer to each other, tightening that grasp until neither of them could move any closer. Derek’s mouth was pressed almost too hard against Stiles’ lips, neither of them able to move with the subtleties needed for kissing.

 

It felt like Derek had needed a hug just as much or more than he had needed a kiss, and Stiles was more than willing to give that too him, spreading his hands along Derek’s back as he focused on just holding him for a second.

 

Stiles almost laughed because they had gone from one extreme to the other, and he could feel the corner of his mouth curl up slightly as Derek finally let go adjusting their stance away from the awkward desperation both of them had indulged in until they were standing in a more comfortable fit.  Stiles moved one of his hands off Derek’s back and cupped his jaw.  Derek tilted his head slightly to the right in response, dragging his mouth oh so sweetly against Stiles’.  Stiles could feel the friction down to his toes.

 

Stiles had a checklist of things he wanted to try out when kissing Derek that were specific to Derek himself.  A pathetic amount of them had to do with trying out Derek’s stubble.  What did it feel like beneath his fingers? If he stroked it with the direction of hair growth would it feel smooth instead of prickly – like when you stroke velvet with or against the grain?  Would it tickle against Stiles’ lips, or would it be too sharp for the sensitive nerve endings that allowed kissing to be so enjoyable?

 

They were kissing, really kissing now.  The feeling and taste of Derek’s mouth against his was addicting, perfect in the extreme because it was Derek he was making out with.  It was Derek he was pushing back against the wall of the elevator as the doors opened on his floor and remained open for a pause.  It was Derek who made Stiles feel short of breath, who drew out each spark along the sensitive nerve endings in Stiles’ mouth until he felt heady with the sensation of it.

 

Derek pulled back slightly and looked into Stiles’ eyes.  Stiles had no idea what he saw in them, or what he was looking for.  Was it something specific, or was it the same way Stiles just wanted to keep staring into Derek’s eyes, like their minds were trying to connect with the nebulous concept of the weight a gaze could carry, as though Stiles could merge his brain with Derek’s?

 

Or maybe he just thought Stiles’ eyes were pretty.  Stiles thought that about Derek’s too, it was impossible not to.

 

Derek’s thumb traced beneath Stiles’ bottom eyelid, tracing along the delicate skin that was already crumpling with permanent lines.  “You look tired,” he said, breaking the trance Stiles seemed to be under with a downwards sweep of his eyelashes, gaze following.

 

“I feel tired,” Stiles admitted.

 

Derek’s fingers traced a line down Stiles’ neck, following the line of muscle and skin with a touch that was a combination of firm and teasing.

 

Stiles shuddered slightly in place.

 

“What are you thinking?” Derek questioned, and his expression became mischievous with undertones of heat, because of course he understood the kinds of thoughts that were running through Stiles’ head.

 

Derek was going to _kill_ him before they even officially went on a date.

 

“I’m thinking of the day I’ll find you sleeping in my bed on purpose.  I think the build up will be a lot more entertaining,” Stiles said, leaning his forehead against Derek’s.  “Now, I have to finish a report on the Park’s social media strategy, and you were on your way…?”

 

“Supper with Laura.  She was expecting me 15 minutes ago.”

 

Stiles winced.  “Ouch, good luck with that,” he said cheerfully as he slipped off the elevator to allow Derek to go back down.  “We’re still on for Friday?”

 

Derek gave him a narrowed look.  “So long as nothing comes up,” he reminded Stiles pointedly.  “Don’t jinx it.”

 

Stiles gave Derek an exaggerated wink as the elevator door closed.  “Nothing _bad_ will come up, anyway.”

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Whenever Stiles thought of Derek, it felt like his heart was swelling to three times the size it normally was, and Stiles certainly wasn’t a Grinch, so he wasn’t sure what that meant.  Exactly.  The thought of their first date made him feel ecstatic though, in a way he couldn’t really put into words and in a way he hadn’t felt before.

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss in the elevator.

 

“You’re such an idiot,” Scott laughed when Stiles explained the problem to him.

 

“I know what it means, _but what does it mean_?” Stiles wailed, eying the window to make sure it was closed.  And also, he was decently secure in the knowledge Derek wasn’t currently home, but who knew about Laura or other random neighbours?

 

“Stiles,” Scott chided, pity obvious on his tone.  “Really?”

 

“We haven’t even gone on a date yet, not really!” Stiles pointed out.  “Do you think maybe it’s really cardiomyopathy?  Do you think I’m dying?”

 

Stiles was sure Scott had to put down the phone to laugh this time.  “Do you really think that’s the problem?” he asked.

 

Stiles was silent for a moment.  “No.”

 

“Do you actually think this is a cause for concern?”

 

“No,” Stiles answered.  “I’m pretty happy right now.  It’s just time I got revenge for all those years of talking out your feelings for Allison.  Years that we’re still going through, by the way.”

 

“Oh wow,” Scott said.  “You’ve never tried to get revenge for the _Allison Years_ before.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles said happily.  “I never really felt it before.”

 

“Whoa. Awesome, dude! I’m really happy for you.”

 

Yep.  Succinctly put Scott.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

Something bad came up.  Stiles should have known better than to jinx it by turning Derek’s sincere concern into a joke, because that something bad wasn’t just bad, it was kind of terrible.  Something bad in the form of Stiles doing damage control after one of their celebrities started tweeting death threats to their husband’s mistress.  Something bad in that Stiles was up for 36 hours, including a brief stint standing out in the rain helping the police, before the whole thing died down.

 

His job was never boring, but that wasn’t enough to cancel his date with Derek.  Friday was the only thing that really kept him going the entire time he was standing on the corner of Broadway and W 53rd Street doing something he was about 150% sure wasn’t his job but that had been assigned to him anyway.  He was a PR guru, not some kind of paparazzi, but that’s how he felt for the entire 2 hours he had spent in the rain because apparently he was a trusted face or something.

 

That was complete BS because the celebrity hadn’t even recognized him, which made the entire situation so pointless, Stiles wanted to murder someone.

 

But it wasn’t so bad.  No, the really terrible thing was he woke up on Friday morning with a scratchy throat that he put down to the really terrible air circulation that happened in the city.  Then by noon he was sweating at his desk, his head felt fuzzy and three sizes too big for his neck and like it was expanding like a balloon, and he started sneezing.

 

And it was the absolute worst because he had to ask Nancy to accompany him home since he wasn’t sure he’d make it into a cab and short ride uptown that he usually walked. 

 

She’d taken one look at him and laughed.  “Your hot date didn’t mean for you to come down with a fever,” she informed him in a stern voice once she schooled her face into one that didn’t look like she was gleefully amused that he was cursed.  Cursed.

 

“I’m not cursed,” he muttered around the mucus building up in the back of his throat.

 

“And I’m not touching you.  I’m saving my sick days for the Monday after Thanksgiving in case I get mauled by crazy people during Black Friday and end up in the hospital.”

 

“You’re all heart,” Stiles agreed as she pulled on gloves she had procured from the first aid box and led him into the elevator with a steady hand on his back.

 

“You should remember to call your boy,” she told him in the cab as he rested his head on the back of the seat and hoped the last person sitting there didn’t have lice.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, not liking how his voice was already cracking beneath the strain of words.  He unlocked his phone and found Derek’s number.  Maybe it was her wording, but he thought that this wasn’t the kind of conversation you had over text, not when it was the second week he’d canceled.

 

“Stiles?” Derek said when he picked up.

 

“I think I’m going to have to cancel,” Stiles told him. 

 

“You’re sick?” Derek questioned before he was able to clarify.  Wow.  He must sound terrible.

 

Stiles coughed as though prompted.  “Yeah.  I’m really sorry.”

 

“You’re not still at work, are you?”

 

God, did Derek know him or what?  Stiles would probably work through the apocalypse if one of his accounts happened to be doing something social media worthy.

 

Stiles went to shake his head automatically, despite the fact he was on the phone, and immediately felt dizzy.  “Nancy is guiding me home and then I think she’s going to bathe in Lysol, so.  Maybe you should stay away for a while.”

 

“Ok.  Get some sleep.”

 

He awoke about five hours later convinced he had been the one to first contract the zombie virus, because he felt like death.  It didn’t help that there was a shadow over him that he wasn’t familiar with.  “You’ve got to stop doing that,” he muttered, rolling over to go back to sleep.  It hurt to move.

 

He woke himself up a few hours later by coughing so violently he was startled out of sleep.  “Creeper,” Stiles muttered to Derek as a cool hand touched his forehead.  “That won’t be an accurate gauge.”

 

“Drink some water,” Derek told him, holding up a water bottle for him.

 

Stiles snorted when he saw what Derek was holding, and it trailed off into a whimper as the back of his throat felt inflamed and his nose threatened to spray snot all over Derek.  “Adult sippy cup.”

 

“Yeah,” Derek answered, clearly humouring him.  “I don’t trust you with an open glass of water right now.”

 

“Fair,” Stiles croaked, allowing Derek to help him take a sip.  “Is this our first date?” Stiles asked gravely after he finished taking a drink.  He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweater.  At least he had the presence of mind not to be all snotty in front of Derek.  There were some things you just didn’t come back from, and Stiles didn’t want to burst that bubble too early.  Having snot run down your lip was just one of those things.

 

“No.”

 

“Good, you’re allowed in my bedroom then.”

 

“You have a fever,” Derek pointed out in what was surely a rational tone.

 

“You’re hot too,” Stiles muttered belligerently.  “I’ll be ok, I promise.  Go home, it’s late.”

 

“It’s seven PM. Laura hasn’t even gotten home from work yet.”

 

“Dulll.”

 

“Wow,” Derek said succinctly, popping a thermometer in his mouth.  If Stiles wasn’t so tired, he’d probably wink at that, but as it was, Derek probably wouldn’t really notice.

 

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Stiles said around the thermometer, his hand grasping Derek’s wrist, as though he could physically stop Derek from touching him.

 

Unfortunately, Stiles had no idea what Derek answered because he promptly fell asleep, only to wake up at 2 AM. The bottle of water and some Nyquil were on the table beside his bed, but Derek was long gone.  Stiles was pleased to know Derek wasn’t watching over him and witnessing him at his most vulnerable, but a small piece of him would have been glad to wake up to the company.

 

That’s how he knew how far gone he was on Derek Hale.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

“Derek!” Stiles said in surprise as he answered the door, though he wasn’t sure why he was surprised.  Of course it was Derek.  There wasn’t really anyone else it would be, and he hadn’t been dumb enough to text Greenberg that he was sick.  Greenberg might be kind of cool these days, but he still had that weird hang up about eye strain. They’d have to pry the iPad out of Stiles’ cold dead hands before he handed it over to anyone.

 

“Soup,” Derek said, holding up a bag.  If Stiles’ nose wasn’t blocked up, he’d probably be able to smell the contents.  Even without his sense of smell, he could take a pretty good guess at what was in the bag based on the logo.

 

Soup.

 

“For me?” Stiles asked inanely.  “You’re awesome.”

 

Derek gave him a small smile and leaned over to kiss the corner of Stiles’ mouth.

 

“Sweet, but gross,” Stiles decided.  “Only I know how much snot has touched that area in the last twenty four hours.  You’re infected now for sure.”

 

“We can live out our last days together.”

 

“Yes,” Stiles decided.  “Then when we both rise from the graves as zombies we can go after Laura first.”

 

“Laura’s a survivor,” Derek argued, closing the door behind him.  “She’d probably singlehandedly take us both down and be the sole person to make it out of the city alive.”

 

“That seems about right.”  His voice was still scratchy but at least he was more coherent today.  He smiled as Derek placed the bag with the soup on the side table next to where Stiles had been sitting. “This doesn’t count, right?” Stiles asked settling on the couch and allowing Derek to take his favourite chair.  Stiles already had a nest of blankets on the couch, a box of Kleenex wedged between the back cushion and the armrest and a growing pile of disgusting used tissues around him that he would have been more careful about if he’d known Derek would show up.

 

“Count as what?”

 

“I had a plan,” Stiles sighed mournfully, blowing his nose.  Ah well, damage was done, he decided with a mental shrug and tossed the tissue with the others.  “This is the second time it’s been shot to hell.”

 

“This doesn’t count… as a date?” Derek clarified slowly, raising his eyebrow in Stiles’ direction. Derek looked like he was on the verge of telling Stiles that he was being stupid. Well, Derek might be kinder than that, because Derek liked him, but Stiles had seen him make an intern cry once, so he was capable of being the person his eyebrows told the world he could be.   Regardless of how kindly Derek might phrase it, he thought Stiles was being a dumb little shit for not considering that of course they’d been dating for the last few weeks, even if they hadn’t been on an official date yet.  Derek had brought him soup _while he had the plague_.  They were dating.

 

Stiles was aware of this.  He was just worried that he and Derek would fall into the middle of a relationship where they were comfortably sitting around in pajama bottoms while eating nachos and watching Doctor Who.  That sounded amazing, of course it did.  Stiles wanted that.  But he also wanted a story of the first time they went out together that he could tell for years to come, for however long they lasted.

 

For forever, maybe.

 

He knew it was dumb, ok?

 

Derek didn’t say anything to answer his question, just dug the take out container out of the bag it was in and handed it to him. 

 

“Thanks,” Stiles said with a soft smile.

 

Derek nodded and picked up his own food.  “I can go if you want.”

 

“No. I don’t want,” he responded, frowning at Derek.  He considered why Derek had seemed so pleased to see him, and then became more recalcitrant as the minutes passed.  It wasn’t because he was scared of Stiles’ flu, so the answer had to be with Stiles himself. “This counts, of course it counts.”

 

Because Stiles was probably already stupidly in love with Derek.

 

“Will you stay?  For a while?” Stiles asked, balancing the soup on his chest and holding it in place as he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth.  He probably needed a bib, his hand a bit too shaky, so he plucked a Kleenex out of the box on put it beneath his chin.  That way, soup wouldn’t be added to the gross stuff on his shirt.

 

Derek looked on in horror as Stiles started to list to the side.

 

“That’s gross!” Stiles exclaimed as Derek used the blanket to swipe all the tissues off the couch before sitting down next to him.

 

“You’re gross,” Derek responded wittily.  He didn’t move to help Stiles, which Stiles was eternally grateful for, but he did help stabilize him by sitting so that Stiles was pressed between Derek and the arm of the couch.  Stiles didn’t feel like his world was tilting off balance when Derek was sitting next to him, a solid presence he could lean against as he ate. 

 

In the literal sense.

 

And this?  This could be a damn good story.

 

**New text from B*tch in Apartment 504:**

_He made you soup. You better appreciate what he’s doing for you._

 

_That’s BS and you know it. He picked it up from the deli down the street I like.  And I do appreciate him. You’re just worried he’ll bring home to plague to you._

 

**New text from B*tch in Apartment 504:**

_I’m a very important person Stiles. And you’re lucky Derek didn’t try to cook.  Getting take out is a more loving gesture than homemade soup_.

 

“One time she found a bone in it.  One time,” Derek muttered.  “There are people who hold a grudge and then there’s Laura.”

 

“I’ve got a plan,” Stiles muttered, listing towards Derek so his head was resting on Derek’s shoulder, maybe a little bit on purpose.  “Next week I’ll give you Kalheesi.”

 

“Ok, Stiles,” Derek answered, clearly humouring him.  “I like Game of Thrones. Sounds like a date.”

 

x.x.x.x.

 

“I give you the Queen of Dragons!” Stiles said grandly, flourishing two tickets for _Breakfast at Tiffany’s_ in front of him.  “No mistake, these are a hundred percent for you and I.  No girls invited.”

 

Derek gingerly took the tickets from his fingers.  “Oh,” he said, reading the name of the play and then looking down at his jeans and shirt combo, and then over at Stiles’ blazer.  “I should get changed.”

 

He was wearing the really tight jeans too.  The ones with the pockets that really cupped the slope of his ass.  Stiles knew because he insanely loved (and hated) those jeans from the first moment he saw them.

 

“Wow, please don’t.”

 

“If we’re going to the theatre I can’t show up looking like some small town tourist impressed by the white lights.”

 

“Butt,” Stiles started pointedly.  “You’re never impressed by anything.”

 

“Not true,” Derek muttered, shoving his arms into the sleeves of a really nice sweater.  Nay, a cardigan.  A really soft looking, possibly cashmere, cardigan that classed his outfit up about a hundred and fifty percent but also made Stiles develop some kind of… librarian kink.  Wow.  That was a thing.  “Did you just wheeze at me?” Derek questioned suspiciously.  “Are you still sick? Are you allergic to wool?”

 

“That could be a legit medical condition,” Stiles decided.  “But mostly I think my lungs were rebelling against the fact I have to share space with someone as molten lava hot as you are.”

 

“Are you trying to compliment me?” Derek asked as he shut the door behind him and locked it.

 

“Uh huh.  Are you impressed enough to date me now?”

 

“Not really.  You’ll have to try harder than that.”

 

“Dude!” Stiles called out, placing a hand over his heart as Derek walked down the hallway.  “I have leapt through fire for you.  I have spoken to your sister and survived.  I have… wow.  What _have_ I done? Derek, did you win me? Do I have this all wrong?  Were you the knight on the quest to win the heart of the lonely Stiles?”

 

Derek rolled his eyes as he waited for the elevator to reach their floor.  “You survived my sleepwalking.”

 

“Yes!  I did do that,” Stiles answered, brushing his shoulder against Derek’s deliberately.  “I think I have the story right this time, though.  It wasn’t me, it was you.”

 

“Was it?” Derek asked with a smirk.  “I thought I had better taste.”

 

“What?  Look at that sweater.  You have amazing taste.”

 

Derek just rolled his eyes at Stiles as they got on the elevator.  Stiles felt a bit flush, remembering the way they had kissed against the ugly paneling before he’d gotten sick. 

 

“I’m gonna date the hell out of you tonight.  It’ll be the best first date ever.”

 

x.x.x.x.x.

 

(It wasn’t not).

 

x.x.x.x.x.

 

“You know that I’m kind of the plan guy,” Stiles said to Derek over spring rolls.  “I know, based on research and empirical data what needs to be said and done, and when.”

 

“Central Park is working out well,” Derek conceded begrudgingly.  Mostly because his abs had somehow ‘accidentally’ ended up as the model for the ice sculpture for one of the galas.  Stiles knew what sold, and Derek had underestimated how uncomfortable it would be to watch people lick the ice version of his torso from 10 feet away while holding a shrimp cocktail when he had given Stiles permission.

 

“So, like, I have this plan. For us,” Stiles said, gesturing with the spring roll in his chopsticks.  He wasn’t sure if Derek was flinching at the idea of a plan for them, considering how well the plan for the first date went, each and every time Stiles made it, or if he thought Stiles was going to accidentally throw food at him.  “Three months is probably a good time for me to tell you that I’m stupidly in love with you.”

 

“That seems fair,” Derek agreed.  No flinch.

 

It emboldened Stiles to continue.  “But I could probably say it now and still mean it.  I don’t think that’s going to be a worry because you’re you, and I’m me, and we’re both aware of that.  But if it is, now’s the time to bail.”

 

Derek just shook his head in a fondly exasperated way, that tiny smile pulling up at the corners of his mouth.  “If you’re actually trying to scare me off, being yourself isn’t going to do it.”

 

“You knew what you were getting into, huh?” Stiles asked, gesturing with his spring roll.  The contents fell out of the roll and plopped on the plate in front of him.  Stiles stared down at them for a moment before dropping his spring roll back on his plate and using his chopsticks to shove the filling back into it. 

 

What?  Derek had practically just given him permission to continue being himself.  He didn’t need to impress Derek.  For some reason Derek was already impressed by him, even if Stiles was the guy who couldn’t eat spring rolls without an incident.

 

“You knew what you were getting into,” Stiles said with a shrug as he resumed eating.

 

x.x.x.

 

Their first date had been… well, in a word it had been really great.  Stiles was still running off the high of it as he stepped into the office.  “Will you be picking your young gentleman up before lunch?” Nancy asked just as Stiles slipped behind his office chair.

 

“What? Why?”

 

Nancy stared at him like he was the dumbest person she’d ever met.  Since she gave him that look about twice a day, it hardly even registered in Stiles’ psyche. 

 

“The luncheon,” she said, inflicting the word with meaning.

 

Only… well, Stiles still had no idea what she was talking about.

 

“…at Per Se?” she finished with.

 

“… Oh.  Ohhhh.” Right. The thing he put Derek down as his plus one back before they were dating, and now he actually had to bring Derek to.  Well.  That wasn’t too bad, at least if he told Derek that he needed a date, Derek was kind of obligated to attend if he could, seeing as he was the guy Stiles was exclusively seeing.  How awesome was that?  A lie that didn’t come back to bite in on the ass.

 

Now, he just had to make sure Derek was on board.

 

“Where are you?” he asked when Derek answered the phone and he could hear the sounds of a crowd behind him. 

 

“In the park.  Like you scheduled.  I’m giving a tour to an orphanage.”

 

Stiles sucked so much.  “I need you to go home and change into your most expensive suit.  I’ll be picking you up in a town car in about an hour.”

 

“Stiles,” Derek replied in an aggravated tone.  “I can’t leave the children.”

 

Stiles knew that Derek wasn’t concerned about the safety of the kids so much as he was concerned about the safety of his newest project.

 

“Get an intern to do it.”

 

“I have plans!” Derek snapped back.  “I’m sorry, I know you’re trying to be spontaneous, but it just won’t work out today.  Sometimes you’ll just have to book me in advance.”

 

“But _Per Se_!”

 

Derek was silent for a moment.  “I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”

 

“Not… no, the restaurant.”

 

Derek paused, possibly regretful for a moment, and Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because of the food rumoured to be served there, which Stiles had never heard anything about the taste of, but the pictures he saw on _the Goog_ made him think of things that embodied ‘look but don’t touch’, or if Derek just didn’t want to let him down.

 

Quite possible Derek would love to grasp at any reason to get away from the crowd of children stomping over his designer grass or whatever.

 

“Sorry Stiles,” Derek said, and then ended the call.

 

Well.  Second date could have gone better.

 

x.x.x.x.

 

“Oh yes,” the maître d’ insisted.  “Stilinski, party of two.”

 

“Sorry,” Stiles winced.  “I don’t have my plus one with me.”

 

“This indicates you plus one has already arrived,” he said gesturing to the room behind him.

 

Stiles looked up across the room, spotting a very familiar butt across the space between them.  Some people might recognise the cut of the suit or the body language of the person wearing it, and maybe there was a bit of that there as well, but Derek had a very distinctive way of standing that lifted his jacket over the waistband of his pants so that his butt was on full display.

 

Stiles kind of really enjoyed that about Derek.

 

“Yes,” Stiles answered with a smile.  “I see him, thank you.”  Walking towards Derek felt like he was tethered to this incredibly surprising man, like he’d always be drawn in Derek’s direction no matter where they were.  He hadn’t expected this, and it made him happy to have Derek surprise him so effortlessly.

 

“You…” don’t say fucker inside of an expensive restaurant, Stiles schooled himself.  He was better than that.  “Came,” he finished with.  “I thought you had plans.”

 

“I did,” Derek said, hanging Stiles a drink.  “Nancy called me a few months ago to set it up.  She didn’t trust you to remember to invite me herself.  It was an interesting conversation.”

 

A few months ago?  Before they were even dating?  When Stiles had panicked and said that Derek was his plus one because he was cornered.  Oh god, how did he explain that?

 

“Oooooh,” Stiles said, wincing.  “I… I have nothing.”

 

“Then she called me a few days ago to remind me.  I have to say I was a bit surprised I was still on the list.  I thought you’d either removed me from it or invite me yourself.”

 

“I…”

 

“Forgot about it entirely?” Derek asked, a smile pulling up around his mouth.  Stiles loved it when Derek looked secretly amused.  It was one of his favourite Derek facial expressions, but seeing it at his expense after he felt slightly humiliated wasn’t really a comforting experience.

 

“Pretty much.  Sorry?”  Stiles wasn’t sure that he was, because every time he saw Derek his heart and brain did this thing where he was just… happy.  Stupid with it.  “I’m glad you’re here.”

 

“And miss witnessing you being mistaken for a waiter again?” Derek questioned, taking a sip of his drink.  “Wouldn’t miss it.”

 

That was Derek-speak for ‘I probably love you too.’

 

x.x.x.x.

 

“Thanks for coming with me,” Stiles said as the elevator doors were sliding closed.  Derek opened his mouth to respond, but Stiles didn’t give him a chance, moving forward and sliding against Derek until he was able to slot himself right up against him.  Stiles pressed his mouth against Derek’s lips, feeling how warm and soft they were against his.  There was a thrill going right through him at the idea that they had successfully completed their first date. 

 

Stiles moved his hand so that it was cupping Derek’s jaw as he maneuvered them both backwards until Derek’s back hit against the side panel of the elevator.  The door dinged as it opened on Stiles’ floor and he ignored it, instead working at sliding his mouth and teeth over Derek’s bottom lip with the hopes of eliciting that pleased and needy sound that Derek did so beautifully.  When he did, the sound of it shot right through Stiles’ system, a heady feeling of lust tempered only by the thought that he actually wanted to do this right with Derek. 

 

He’d already messed up more than once, even though Derek didn’t seem to think that Stiles was doing anything wrong, but Stiles was acutely aware that this wasn’t the kind of thing that he should be doing halfassed.  “I have a plan,” he muttered against Derek’s mouth before pulling away.

 

Derek’s mouth was red and swollen from Stiles’ kiss, and he looked like he needed Stiles to repeat the process, his hand raised towards him as though to bring him back.  Derek’s mouth curved slowly into a smirk, “is it a plan that ends with me in your bed?” he asked, fingers catching on Stiles’ belt loop as Derek slowly dragged him back in.

 

He was about to give in to Derek’s demands.  Derek’s sexy demands.  Derek’s Stiles-doesn’t-have-a-chance-at-denying-them plans.

 

The door to the elevator opened, revealing Laura putting on lipstick in the reflection on the metal surface, her face closer than any of them felt comfortable with.  “I’ll take the stairs,” she decided, took one step in outrageously high heels and then turned back to them.  “No, we’re going to change positions, and if either of you are sporting visible erections, I want them out of my sight.  I just snarfed down half a stale bagel, it’s going to be the only thing I get to eat for the next twelve hours, and there’s no way I’m losing it.”

 

There was an awkward dance for both of them to get out of the elevator to allow her in, but once it was done Stiles started to laugh at the timing.   “Your sister is horrible,” he decided, giving Derek a face before he leaned in and brushed a kiss against his mouth.  His heart was beating quickly at the soft way Derek leaned into it.  “But I think it’s time to call it a night.  I want to…” he cupped Derek’s cheek and in return Derek turned his head into it.  “I have a plan.”

 

“Your plans are shit,” Derek reminded him.  “You miss half of what’s actually happening because you have a plan.  I’ll tell you my plan,” he said, pitching his voice low and leaning back into Stiles.  “I plan to drive you absolutely insane for every date you try to make me wait because you have some kind of _plan_.  If you’re not ready, you’re not ready, but a plan?” Derek asked, dragging his hand down the length of Stiles’ back and cupping his ass, fingers brushing against places Stiles wasn’t really expecting them to go.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, canting towards Derek.

 

“Good night, Stiles,” Derek said, removing his hand and giving Stiles a soft kiss on the cheek.  “Think about it.”

 

Fuck, Stiles decided as Derek closed his apartment door behind him.

 

Fuck.

 

Fuck.

 

Derek was going to really make this fun.

**Author's Note:**

> I want this to come off as nicely as possible, but I'm not in the TW fandom anymore. Posting this was cleaning house/my draft folders. I've deliberately removed my tumblr and twitter links from this story because I don't want to lead anyone on because I'm currently shipping Steve/Bucky from Captain America and my blog/writing is dedicated to that.


End file.
